Now or Never

Day one of sightseeing for the art lover and the palate.

The first business of the day after breakfast was scoring tickets to visit the Academia, home of Michelangelo's "David," among other things.

Waiting in line, I overheard a woman demand, "I want to see the David now."

When the ticket seller informed her that the soonest she get a ticket was for 1:15, she huffed and puffed and sailed out ticket-less.

Now that's the way to perpetuate the ugly American stereotype.

With tickets in hand for 3:15, we headed over to the Bargello where Florence's best sculpture collection resides.

On the way, I saw my first monk.

The former police station has a stone courtyard filled with little nothings like Michelangelo's "Bacchus," he of the cup raised to lips and beer belly.

If he was encouraging us to indulge in the grape while in Florence, he needn't have worried.

Admiring Giambologna's "Mercury," I was jostled by a trio of American women, one of who asked if her friend wanted a picture taken.

"Nah, I'll wait for David," the other sniffed.

That's the way to fixate and miss a lot.

Walking upstairs, I had my first "oh, my!" moment when I walked into the Donatello gallery and came face to face with the first great Renaissance genius' marble "David."

It's the starting point for every Renaissance Art 101 class and although it still has one foot in the Gothic style, it was significant.

As impressive as it was, the one that bowled me over was his later bronze "David," the first nude sculpture of the Renaissance, wearing only hat, boots and sword.

Now we were getting somewhere.

Galley after gallery of sculpture and Renaissance artifacts kept us occupied until our growling stomachs overruled my art historian's heart.

We scored lunch at a tiny streetfront eatery called I Fratellini where "little brothers" have served peasants (and now visitors) 29 kinds of sandwiches and wine since 1875.

I chose one of wild boar salame with butter on a crusty roll and my companion one of salame and artichokes and we took them to the Piazza del Signoria to enjoy on a stone bench.

We'd also picked up a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino, amazingly also available by the glass, but who can drink only one glass of Brunello?

After a stop at a colorful fruit stand to buy some Muscato grapes for snackage, we headed over to the Academia.

There's no question that Michelangelo's "David" is the star here and, entering the gallery, it is the focal point of the room.

Situated under a domed skylight, the monumental figure is bathed in glorious Florentine light.

Walking toward it, though, is the perfect lead-up in the forms of "The Prisoners," four partially-finished works by Michelangelo.

Each one seems to be trying to break free of the stone block from which it emerges, with chisel marks visible all around.

It's a fascinating look into the sculptor's process.

And then there is the "David" - the sheer size (17 feet), the perfection of form, the buns of steel, the cocky look in his young eyes that says, "Yea, I can take this guy."

What they don't tell you in art history class is how endlessly fascinating it is, despite the tourists who walk up, glance up and walk away.

The only thing about the "David" I couldn't stomach was the lack of an editor for the nearby signage.

"The bronze copy found in Piazelle Michelangelo overlooking Florence was done some."

Some what? How can no one have noticed this glaringly incomplete sentence?

Does the Academia need an editor?

Despite the larger-than-life "David," there were other things to see in the Academia.

A room of paintings with a cracked mirror floor (and a sign saying not to walk barefoot or touch it with your hands), an unexpected Robert Mapplethorpe photograph of a male body with legs fully extended, and Gambologna's "Rape of the Sabines," an exercise in composition where the artist had no subject in mind.

Looking at the sculpture of a young man standing on an older man as he grabs a Sabine woman, I saw all three figures forming a unifying spiral-shaped pose so typical of Florentine sculpture.

Then it was on to the galleries housing the Museum of Musical Instruments which included paintings of musicians (we called them band photos).

You can imagine how a music lover like me was endlessly fascinated by things like a marble dulcimer, the violincello of the Medici quartet (whoa, supergroup), hurdy gurdies and a tenor viola (Holmes would have been thrilled).

I'm guessing Treesa would have been equally impressed with a 1716 violin made by Stradivari, the only one in the world in its original condition (never having undergone bending of fingerboard or reduction in size).

I saw the first keytar. Okay, it was labeled a piano guitar, lute shaped with six keys and designed so young women could play without ruining their fingertips, but any child of the '80s saw it for what it really was: a keytar.

After seeing the first attempt at an upright piano, I was ready to exit the Academia, stage right.

I'm not going to pretend we didn't want a nap after that day or that the bottle of Brunello on the balcony wasn't a fitting ending to so many Davids, because we did and it was.

After a day in sensible shoes, I donned cute ones for a saunter through the neighborhood where we found a trattoria with a guy playing guitar at a front table.

Decision made.

Our charming waiter approved of my choice of Ruffino Tenuta Santedame 2009 ("Best Chianti classico we have!") and we settled in for the next few hours.

Classic '60s blues emanated from above, making my partner in crime inordinately happy.

Artichoke carpaccio with Pecorino and lemon got us started.

The most mind-blowing pancetta with Pecorino Fresca and grilled zucchini had us blubbering like we'd never had Tuscan bacon before.

An accordion player serenaded us with "O Sole Mio."

Gnocchi with walnuts and Gorgonzola was balanced exquisitely, not too cheesy and with the loveliest long finish of walnuts.

All hopes of tripe vanished as we realized we were full and no secondi was possible tonight.

Ah, well, there's always tomorrow for secondi.

Dolci della casa was translated on the menu as "homemade cakes" but, upon inquiry, I learned that cake was a loose term.

I chose a flourless chocolate torte and my date got a panna cotta with red berry sauce that had him in ecstasy.

And really neither one of us had any cake at all, not true cake anyway.

For our waiter's last service we asked him where to find a club to dance or to hear music. He begged off, saying he is an old man (28) and settled down with a girlfriend.

But IF he were to go out, he told us, here is where he would go and wrote several notes on the placemat.

Score.

At the end of the day, I was feeling awfully satisfied.

I have now seen both Donatello and Michelangelo's Davids. I have walked my first cracked mirror floor. I have eaten street food and wiled away hours at a tratttoria.

Even better, more Brunello awaits.